


Photographs

by asclepiades



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A collection of oneshots, Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts, M/M, Marauder's Era, Requited Love, Second War with Voldemort, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:36:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28087848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asclepiades/pseuds/asclepiades
Summary: A collection of moments from the lives of the Marauders, with an (unashamedly) large focus on wolfstar.[Non-chronological, but if that bothers you, I'll put the chronological chapter order here as I go along!]
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two tired men have their first honest conversation since the start of the Second Wizarding War.

_26th January 1996_

Remus Lupin hated 12 Grimmauld Place. Even without its history, there was something distinctly oppressive about the narrow, tall corridors and dark, sloping ceilings. Knowing that it had served as little more than a prison for someone that he cared about only made it worse.

The only room that felt moderately homely was the kitchen, but unfortunately the subject of his search was not to be found there. Nor anywhere else, it seemed, as Remus mounted staircase after staircase with no luck.

‘Sirius?’ he called upon reaching the final floor of the once grand house. No answer. Remus sighed, turning to descend the stairs and swearing as his head whacked against something solid. The perpetrator of his assault was the attic door, hanging open next to a precarious looking stepladder which had one of its legs stabilised by a deck of exploding snap cards. Remus tutted; the decidedly foolish attempt at safety was undoubtedly Sirius’ work.

His suspicions were confirmed when he (very cautiously) scaled the ladder and poked his head into the attic. Sirius Black was sitting cross-legged on the floorboards, his long fingers leafing through a book in his lap. The light from a candle to his side cast a warm glow across his uncharacteristically unguarded features, and brought to Remus’ mind an image of a much younger boy, shoulders less heavy and features less worn as he laughed with his friends in the Gryffindor common room of a time gone by.

‘Sirius,’ he called across the room, but no luck; the other man was entranced by whatever he was reading. Remus hoisted himself up into the attic, wincing slightly as the motion pulled at old scar tissue in his side. He sidestepped the piles of boxes and trinkets and reached out, gently squeezing Sirius’ shoulder.

Sirius flinched at the touch, slamming the book shut and looking up, eyes wild with animalistic fear. He recognised Remus in an instant, relaxing, but the damage was done – the peacefulness had dropped from his features, and a touch of shame was colouring his cheeks.

‘Sorry, Moony,’ he said, flashing Remus an uneasy grin. ‘I didn’t see you there.’

Remus returned a sad smile. ‘My fault, Pads. Didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘You’re here on Order business, I suppose?’ Sirius asked, a bitter undertone creeping into his words.

‘No.’ Ignoring the question in Sirius’ eyes, Remus lowered himself awkwardly on the floor and nodded at the book in the other man’s hands. ‘What were you reading?’

‘Oh, it’s stupid, really. I don’t know why…’ Sirius tailed off, his fingers traced the spine of the worn tome before grasping it and offering it to Remus. ‘Here.’

Remus’ chest constricted as he flipped open the book. He let out a soft, ‘Ah.’

It was a photo album, an old one – spanning 1971 to 1981, precisely. He understood why Sirius had been so entranced when Remus had emerged into the attic; if he had a choice himself, he would live in this photo album, lost amongst the warm memories of those years.

Slowly, he thumbed through the pages, drinking in each photo. There was one of all four marauders, squashed up on a sofa in Gryffindor tower, laughing at some shared joke. Another was evidently snapped after one of James’ failed attempts at courting Lily Evans; it depicted the black-haired boy covered head to toe in green slime, grinning like a fool as a redheaded girl stormed off into the distance. The next page told a different story; Lily curled up in James’ lap by the fire, sharing an adoring glance. It was accompanied on the overleaf by a photograph of Dorcas Meadowes and Marlene McKinnon riding a broom in tandem, the latter resting her head on the former’s shoulder, arms tightly wrapped around her and smiling contentedly at the camera.

Remus could not help but linger on the next picture. It was one of James, Sirius and himself, when they couldn’t have been more than fifteen. They were standing on the shore of the Great Lake, with James in the middle, his arm looped easily around each of the other boys’ shoulders. Remus almost didn’t recognise himself; the tawny-haired boy smiling up at him from the photo looked far too carefree and happy.

‘Pete always did take the best photos.’

Remus looked up from the book, surprised. Sirius had not even alluded to Peter Pettigrew’s existence since their unfortunate reunion with the man, almost two years prior.

‘Quite a lot of those are his,’ Sirius continued. ‘He had that funny muggle camera – it was his dad’s, I think.’ His eyes darkened, and he looked down, a lock of black hair falling over his face. ‘It’s a shame about… you know.’

‘I know,’ Remus said softly.

Sirius looked up again, meeting Remus gaze with eyes full of sadness. ‘I don’t know what to do, Moony,’ he said, voice barely above a whisper. ‘All I want is to avenge them – to kill that treacherous rat and put an end to this bloody war, but I’m… I’m useless. Everyone’s out there fighting, and I’m stuck here doing…’ he gestured hopelessly to the stacks of boxes and papers around him, ‘…admin.’

‘You’re doing what you can,’ Remus said. He was all too familiar with the feeling of uselessness himself. ‘You’ve given the Order your home – that’s more than anyone could ask for. You’re making sure its members are safe, Padfoot – you’re doing your bit.’

‘I’m not, though, am I?’ Sirius frowned. ‘Look at Arthur – mauled by a giant snake isn’t quite what I would describe as safe. Perhaps if I were out in the field…‘

‘Sirius, you can’t. Dumbledore said-‘

‘Fuck Dumbledore,’ Sirius spat. ‘What gives that old man the right to dictate every move we make? You can’t go on treating him like a saint just because he let you go to Hogwarts, Moony. He’s fucked you over just as much as the rest of us.’

Remus took a deep breath. That hurt. Lows blows were par for the course when arguing with Sirius Black, however. He had been prone to lashing out ever since they were children, and you couldn’t rise to it if you wanted to get through to him.

‘Regardless of whether Albus is a good man or not, he is _right_ , Sirius,’ Remus said firmly. ‘You might feel like you’re no good to the Order here – which, I might add, is entirely untrue – but you’d be no use at all if you were kissed by a Dementor and locked up in Azkaban, and that’s exactly where you’ll end up if you set foot outside this house.’

Sirius glared at him but let out a resigned sigh, slumping against the wood behind him.

‘Why do you have to be so bloody reasonable all the time?’ he said, laughing mirthlessly. ‘I just feel so… trapped. Like a caged animal.’

‘Like a caged dog?’ Remus offered, smirking slightly.

Sirius’ lips quirked upwards, and the chuckle that he let out was more genuine this time. ‘You could say that, yes.’

Remus felt the tightness that had coiled in his chest loosen slightly. The two men sat in companionable silence for a while, each content to be within their own thoughts, until suddenly Sirius broke it.

‘Why are you here, Moony?’

Remus looked at Sirius. The multitude of excuses that had been running through his head on the journey to Grimmauld Place flitted across his mind, but eventually, it was the truth that settled upon his lips.

‘I miss you.’

Sirius’ eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He shifted ever so slightly, so that his knee now rested upon Remus’ own. When their gazes locked again, there was a fire in his slate-grey eyes, a passion that Remus had not seen in a long time.

‘I miss you, too,’ he said. ‘Stay, Remus.’

Remus bit his lip. ‘I can’t, you know that. Not with the war going on. There are places I need to be.’

‘Fuck the war,’ Sirius said bitterly. ‘If anything, this blasted war is all the more reason for you to stay. Who knows how much time we have left – we should bloody well make the most of it!’

He was more impassioned than Remus had seen him since they were young and fresh-faced, unburdened by the wealth of loss that they had accumulated over the years. _He’s right, too_ , Remus realised, feeling the last of his inhibitions slip away. They had already lost enough time to Azkaban, to trying to piece together their relationship over the chasm that 12 years of separation and misunderstanding had left whilst simultaneously pretending that the gulf between them did not exist.

He wanted Sirius. He wanted him more than anything; to hold his body close, limbs tangled, just like when they were 16-year-olds with no idea what they were doing. He met Sirius’ still fiery gaze and realised with a jolt that he was not alone in his desire.

Sirius wanted it too. Sirius, who had been so broken after Azkaban that he cringed away from any touch and confined himself to the shadows, pushing away those around him with every chance he got. Sirius, who was now resting his knee against Remus and staring fiercely into his eyes and asking him to _stay_.

He reached out a hand to hold the back of Sirius’ head, losing his fingers in the locks of black hair. Remus leant forward, gently pressing his forehead to Sirius’ own. His other hand found Sirius’, and he held on, tight.

‘Okay, Padfoot,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll stay.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We go back to the Marauders' humble beginnings on a train ride in 1971.

_1 st September 1971_

People-watching was a skill that 11-year-old Remus Lupin had had plenty of time to perfect, and the bustling platform at King’s Cross was just the right place to exercise it. He was quite certain that he had never seen so many people in one place before, and the scene provided no shortage of entertainment.

From his vantage point in the carriage window, he watched, amused, as tall boy struggled desperately to corral a wild barn owl into its cage, elbowing at least three innocent bystanders in the process. Two strikingly similar redheaded boys were making the most of the diversion, slipping what looked to be dungbombs into as many coat pockets and hoods as possible whilst trying to stay out of sight of a fuming middle-aged woman with equally flame-coloured hair who appeared to be on something of a warpath.

He wondered if his father was still on the platform. Lyall Lupin had promised to wave his son off, but Remus knew that the man had to rush off to work soon after, and he wouldn’t have blamed him for slipping away amongst the melee of families. A brief scan of the crowd gave him no answer, but the platform was so packed that he doubted that he would be able to spot his father even if he was there.

His gaze lingered upon an odd duo stood off to the side; despite the heaving throng of people, there was something magnetic about this particular pair that drew Remus’ eyes to them. Their shared aristocratic features meant that they could only be mother and son, but they could not have worn them differently. The woman’s high cheekbone’s and aquiline nose made her look terribly haggard and harsh, but upon her son, who could not have been much older than Remus himself, they bestowed a regal and refined quality.

Remus watched as the woman gesticulated in her son’s face, viciously stabbing the air as if to emphasise each point she was making. She was wearing a horrible black hat that looked as if it had once been a live bat, and with each jab of her finger, it wiggled as if trying to escape. The boy was making a show of looking uninterested, but it looked a bit too practised to Remus – the bored curl to his lip, the fingers twisting distractedly around a strand hair – it all seemed a little forced.

A sharp whistle cut through the noise and the boy looked up suddenly, straight at Remus. Blushing, he ducked out of sight, leaning back against the padded seat and listening as the hubbub on the platform increased. A large, deep voice was shouting ‘All aboard!’, and parents rushed to bustle their children onto the train, hurriedly calling their last goodbyes.

Far too soon, Remus felt a jolt as the train began to move. His stomach dropped and he was gripped by an urgent need to find his father, to see his face one last time. He scrambled to his feet, almost tripping over his laces, and pushed open the carriage window to stick his head out. A hoard of unfamiliar faces greeted him, whizzing by faster and faster as the train pulled away. The crowd began to thin, and Remus had almost lost hope when – yes, that _was_ his tawny curls, his brown work jacket! There he was!

‘Dad!’ he shouted. ‘Dad! Bye!’

His father’s eyes crinkled as he smiled warmly on sight of his son, raising a hand. Remus raised one back, waving until the platform had disappeared. Still nervous but less so, he flopped back down into the seat and stretched out, resting his feet on the opposite bench. _At least I’ve got a carriage to myself,_ he thought, watching in fascination as the tower blocks of central London were replaced by the sprawling houses of the suburbs.

His peace did not last very long. Not twenty minutes after they had pulled out of King’s Cross, his compartment door was flung open, unannounced, and a bespectacled boy with impossibly messy black hair strolled in. He looked to be about Remus’ age.

‘I don’t get _why_ he was so miserable,’ he was saying to a shorter, round-faced boy next to him. ‘Or why that girl was giving him the time of day! I bet he’ll be in Slytherin, the greasy-‘ 

He stopped short, noticing Remus.

‘Oh! Sorry, mate, didn’t see you there. James Potter,’ he said, sticking out his hand. ‘This is Peter Pettigrew.’ He gestured to the pudgy boy next to him, who gave Remus a timid wave. ‘And _this,_ would you believe it, is-‘

‘I can introduce myself, Potter,’ a third boy said good-naturedly, stepping into the compartment. Remus’ eyes widened as he recognised the aristocratic boy from the platform. ‘I’m Sirius Black.’

 _Black_. That made sense. The reason that the boy looked like he came from such a fine stock was because he _did_ – the purest in the country, if you believed what the family reported. He shook the boy’s proffered hand reluctantly, trying not to think about what Black would say if he knew what Remus really was.

The three boys were looking at him expectantly, and he realised that they were waiting for an introduction.

‘Remus Lupin,’ he offered.

Potter raised an eyebrow. ‘Lupin… that’s a wizarding name, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah. I’m half-blood, though,’ Remus said. ‘My mum was a muggle.’

‘Was?’ the boy called Peter repeated, squeaking as Potter elbowed him in the ribs and hissed, ‘Shut _up_ , Pettigrew!’

Black ignored the exchange, settling himself down on the bench opposite Remus.

‘You don’t mind us sitting here, do you?’ he asked.

Remus shrugged. It seemed like they had already made themselves at home, anyway.

‘Great!’ the boy grinned. The other two joined them on the benches, Pettigrew awkwardly avoiding Remus’ gaze whilst Potter looked eagerly out of the window.

‘I always forget how big muggle London is,’ Potter said. ‘It’s crazy to think that they built all that cool stuff without magic.’

‘Not all of it. Christopher Wren was a wizard, and he designed loads of the city.’ Black’s words had the air of someone repeating something learnt by rote. ‘Anyway, lots of London isn’t cool. Some of it’s dreadfully boring.’

‘You live here, then?’ Potter asked.

Black nodded. ‘Islington.’

‘Ha! Posho.’

‘Oh, yeah, that’s fair – James Potter, heir to the Sleekeazy fortune, calling _me_ posh! The only reason you don’t live in London is probably because your mansion’s too bloody big to fit there!’

‘Not true!’ Potter said, indignant. ‘My mansion would fit just fine! It’s the full size Quidditch pitch that’s the problem.’

The two boys grinned at each other. Remus looked away, feeling incredibly out of his depth. Each boy probably had more money in their travel purses than he had ever had in his life.

‘I’m from Leicester,’ Pettigrew piped up, anxiously looking between the black-haired boys for a response.

‘That’s nice,’ Potter said. ‘Where do you live, Lupin?’

‘London, too. Waltham Forest.’

‘Sounds nice.’

Remus raised an eyebrow, thinking of the cramped council flat that he shared with his dad. ‘It’s not.’

‘Oh,’ Potter said, a fleeting frown creasing his forehead, but he seemed to take Remus’ bluntness in his stride. He turned back to the other boys. ‘Has anyone got a favourite Quidditch team? I really should support the Wasps – they’re my most local team, see – but their offence strategy has been so awful this year that I can’t help but root against them.’

Remus looked out the window, resting his head on the cool glass and watching the countryside flit by as the conversation drifted away from him. He was fine with this – he hadn’t come to Hogwarts with the intention of making friends. It would only make things harder.

He knew that his father thought so, too. Lyall had stopped him at the door that morning, just before they had left. The tall man had knelt down to his son’s eye level and impressed upon him just how important it was to _be careful_. He was far too kind to outright tell Remus to stay away from other children, but the request to keep himself to himself had hung behind the man’s words, in his earnest, worried gaze.

‘You fancy playing gobstones, Lupin?’

Remus looked over, surprised that he had been asked. The request had come from Black, who was looking at him expectantly.

‘Sorry,’ he shrugged. ‘Never played before.’

That elicited frowns from all three of the boys.

‘You’ve _never_ played gobstones?’ Potter repeated, incredulous. ‘Spend most of your time outside, then? Flying, I suppose?’

‘Never done that, either,’ Remus said. He didn’t like this conversation.

‘What _do_ you do with yourself, then?’ Black asked.

Remus shrugged again. ‘I read.’

Black gave a small snort. It made Remus angry.

‘What?’ he asked, shortly.

Black’s eyes widened slightly – he hadn’t expected to be challenged. His gaze skimmed briefly over Remus’ scuffed trainers and second-hand clothes.

‘You just don’t look like the reading type, that’s all.’

The made Remus angrier. He didn’t mind anger, though – it was useful, and he was good at it. It was how he had kept the children at his primary school from getting too close and asking prying questions.

‘What’s that s’posed to mean, Black?’ he said, his tone none too kind.

Black held his gaze for a moment, and Remus thought he was about to reply, but the other boy just gave a small shrug, sliding off the bench to join Pettigrew and Potter, who were caught up in a fierce match of gobstones on the floor.

Irritated, Remus turned back to the window. The crowded suburbia had long since given way to rolling countryside, and as he watched field after field go by, Remus couldn’t help but think of the miles he was putting between himself and his father. His stomach twinged a little; he had never gone anywhere without his dad before.

Frowning, he pushed the unhappy thought to the back of his mind. If he couldn’t survive half a train journey without feeling homesick, then how could he hope to get through a full term at Hogwarts? He closed his eyes, trying instead to focus on the happy chatter of the other occupants of the carriage.

The next thing he knew, Remus was being shaken awake. It was Black. Again.

‘What d’you want?’ he grumbled.

‘You fell asleep,’ Black said, smiling affably. ‘Thought I’d wake you – we need to get into our robes soon. James and Peter have gone to change in the loos now.’

Remus rubbed his eyes and looked around the compartment. Sure enough, it was empty, although there were now colourful wrappers strewn across the benches.

‘The trolley witch came,’ Black continued, nodding at the detritus. ‘We weren’t sure what you wanted, so we got a bit of everything. I even managed to save you some of Honeyduke’s Finest before Pettigrew saw – here, it’s really good.’

Horrified at the idea of accepting food like some charity case, Remus shook his head, waving away Black’s proffered hand.

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ he said, digging around in his satchel and emerging with a rather squashed ham sandwich. ‘I’m happy with this.’

Black snorted. ‘Yeah, and my mum’s Albus Dumbledore. Eat it, honestly, it’ll just go to waste otherwise.’

Remus laughed despite himself, reluctantly accepting the chocolate. Black was right – it was ridiculously good. He thought back to King’s Cross, where he had seen Black on the platform, standing next to the harsh woman with the hideous furry black headwear.

‘Given that I saw your mum at the station,’ he said, letting the chocolate melt on his tongue, ‘if that’s true, then Dumbledore’s _definitely_ not how I imagined him.’

Black wrinkled his nose and grinned. ‘You’ve got me. My mum’s actually Walburga Black, presiding matriarch of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Dumbledore’s much more of a looker than she is.’

‘Yeah, well, I think it would be hard for anyone to pull off a bat-skin fascinator,’ Remus said.

The other boy grimaced, then suddenly his expression turned serious. ‘I’m sorry about what I said earlier, Lupin,’ he said. ‘About you reading. The Blacks aren’t the… nicest of families, and I get rather a lot of people judging me before they actually try to know me. I didn’t mean to do the same to you.’

Remus was caught off guard by the apology, and even more so by the strange warm feeling it elicited inside him.

‘S’okay,’ he said. ‘I know I don’t look like the most studious type.’

Black shrugged. ‘I shouldn’t have assumed.’ His gaze lingered on Remus, and after a moment, he continued, ‘Can I ask – you don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to – but if your dad’s a wizard, why is it that you haven’t done much normal wizarding stuff – you know, gobstones and Quidditch and all that?’

Remus bit his lip, working over possible answers in his mind. _I was bitten by a werewolf when I was four, so I’ve lived my whole life sheltered from the magical community_ probably wasn’t going to cut it, so he went for a different semblance of the truth.

‘My dad works a lot,’ he said. ‘It’s just me and him, so when he’s out I’ve got no one to do that sort of thing with.’

‘Oh,’ Black said. ‘That’s a shame.’

‘It’s not too bad,’ Remus said. ‘We play a lot of cards, me and him.’

Before Black could reply, the compartment door clattered open and Potter and Pettigrew toppled in, clad in black robes and wheezing with laughter.

‘Quick, quick! Shut it,’ Pettigrew managed to splutter, gesturing towards the entryway. Remus kicked the door shut with his foot.

‘What happened to you two?’ Black asked.

Potter, who was still giggling but had calmed down sufficiently to speak, said, ‘That Snape boy – he tried to hex us, and I didn’t have my wand, but Peter… Pete did… it was bloody brilliant, he…’

It was no use; Potter dissolved into a fit of laughter at the thought. Remus and Black both turned questioning looks to Pettigrew. The blond boy shrugged, but he was obviously glowing from Potter’s praise.

‘I didn’t mean to do it – the spell’s meant to conjure a flower behind your ear,’ he said. ‘It’s the only one I know – my sister used to do it on me all the time – and when that boy pointed his wand at us, I panicked and tried it, but it went wrong and-‘

‘And whenever Snape tried to speak, he just started spitting flower petals!’ Potter finished triumphantly, having found some of his composure. He clapped Pettigrew on the shoulder. ‘Bloody marvellous.’

‘That does sound rather funny,’ Black said, grinning.

‘You should’ve seen it, mate,’ Potter said. ‘His little girlfriend didn’t seem to think so, though – you know, the stuck-up redhead. She chased after us and everything!’

At that exact moment, a girl’s face appeared at the door. She had a neat red fringe and a furious look on her face as she peered through the small window, but the two boys in a heap on the floor seemed to escape her notice, as she stormed off after a few seconds.

The close shave sent the guilty subjects into a renewed fit of giggles. Black stood up, picking his way past the two boys and grabbing a neat leather satchel from the overhead shelf.

‘Come on, Lupin,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and get changed. I think we’d best leave them to recover.’

Remus grabbed his own tired messenger bag and followed Black to the nearest toilets, locking himself in a cubicle. He changed quickly and stepped out, taking a look at himself in the bathroom mirror. His robes, although second hand, looked just the same as Pettigrew’s had, or even Potter’s. For the first time since he had boarded the strange old train, he didn’t feel out of place; at least now, no one would look at him and instantly see a scruffy council estate kid or assume he didn’t read.

He ran a hand through his hair, watching his light brown curls spring back into place. He knew he looked a lot like his father, everyone said it; they had the same green eyes, the same head of hair and tall, lanky frame. For the first time, however, he didn’t feel ashamed of it. Perhaps, despite who he was – _what_ he was – he might just be able to make his dad proud.

‘You look ravishingly handsome, Lupin, don’t worry.’ Black grinned at him as he stepped out of his cubicle, running a hand through his own long, black hair. He nudged Remus towards the door. ‘Go on, let’s get back to the carriage before Pettigrew finds our hidden stash of chocolate.’

By the time they got back, the other boys had managed to stop laughing and were sat comparing chocolate frog card collections.

‘Alright, lads,’ Potter said cheerily as they entered the compartment. ‘Fancy another round of gobstones.’

Black gave Remus a sideways glance. ‘Actually, I was thinking we could play a card game. Have you ever heard of Irish Snap?’

Neither of them had, and he spent the next ten minutes trying to explain it with a pack of muggle cards he had dug out of his bag, Remus interjecting wherever he thought was helpful. What followed was an incredibly raucous, equally joyful, hour-long game of Irish Snap, and to his surprise, Remus was almost disappointed when the Hogwarts Express rolled to a stop at Hogsmeade station.

The disappointment was far surmounted by excitement, however, and all four of them hurriedly gathered their belongings and made their way onto the platform. A tall boy with neatly braided hair introduced himself as Benjy Fenwick, Head Boy, and shepherded them down the platform. A huge, broad man with a bushy brown mane was stood at the end, towering over the students as a shouted, ‘Firs’ years! Firs’ years, over ‘ere!’

‘I think this is the last of them, Hagrid,’ Fenwick said as they joined the crowd.

‘Right you are, Ben,’ Hagrid said jovially. ‘Follow me, you lot.’

They followed the giant of a man down a cobbled path to a small dock, where a fleet of little boats were moored, bobbing gently.

‘In you get – no more ’n four to a boat, please!’

Remus climbed into a boat behind Potter, gripping the side as Pettigrew stumbled in.

‘Oh, I’d keep me ‘ands inside the boat, if I were you, lad,’ a gruff voice said, and he looked up to see Hagrid smiling down at him. ‘The giant squid’s been known to go fer handshakes if he’s feelin’ friendly, an’ I’d rather not ‘ave to fish you out the lake!’

Remus shuddered and quickly withdrew his hand from the side of the boat. He didn’t particularly fancy a swim in the cold, dark water either.

‘Atta boy,’ the big man said, hopping into a boat of his own with surprising deftness. Raising his voice, he shouted, ‘Right – forward!’

The boats began to drift out of the small dock. Remus was vaguely aware of Potter and Black making faces at a boy with limp black hair and a sour expression in the neighbouring boat, but he was too captivated by the view emerging in front of them to really pay attention.

Hogwarts was unfolding from behind the mountains, reaching out regally into the dusky clouds until it almost obscured the sky. By the time the flotilla passed through the ivy curtain into the bowels of the castle, even Potter and Black had fallen silent.

Awe-struck, the first years followed Hagrid through a grand old doorway and up several staircases until they reached an even larger door, where he handed them over to a severe looking witch with square spectacles and a tight black bun.

‘Welcome to Hogwarts,’ she said, her reedy Scottish accent carrying across the entrance hall. ‘I am Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor house. If you are all ready, we shall commence the Sorting Ceremony.’

There were murmurs of excitement at the mention of the Sorting Ceremony. Remus’ stomach dropped. He hadn’t really given the Sorting much thought until now, too excited at the prospect of coming to Hogwarts itself. It terrified him. He knew all about the Sorting Hat; supposedly it saw into your very soul. Who was to say it wasn’t going to take one look at him, announce to the room that he was a werewolf, and Remus’ nice evening would come to an end with him being chased out of the castle by a pitchfork-toting hoard?

He did not have too long to ponder on these worries, however, as he soon found himself shuffling awkwardly down the centre aisle with the other first years, acutely aware of the hundreds of pairs of eyes trained upon him. The Great Hall was magnificent, but all Remus could focus on was the wrinkled old hat sat atop a small wooden stool at the front.

The first years came to a stop in front of the stool, and the entire hall was deathly quiet, staring at the hat in expectation. To Remus’ surprise, the leathery folds began to move, as if shaking itself awake, and the hat began to sing. It described the virtues of each Hogwarts house in the tune, and from the bored expressions on the older students’ faces, he got the impression that the song was far from improvised, but there was polite applause when the hat finished. McGonagall stepped up to the stool and picked up the hat in one hand, unfurling a long scroll of parchment in the other.

‘Please step up to the stool when your name is called,’ she said. ‘Avery, Mortimer.’

A thin, pinch-faced boy stepped up and took a seat. The hat had barely touched his dark hair when it shouted, ‘ _Slytherin!_ ’ There were loud cheers from the table furthest to the left, and a smattering of claps from the rest of the hall. Aymes, William went next, to Ravenclaw, then Baruti, Keeya to Slytherin.

‘Black, Sirius,’ McGonagall called. That got Remus’ attention, and the rest of the school’s, too, it seemed; the bored chatter that had started to arise deadened to absolute quiet. Remus felt movement next to him and turned to watch Black mount the dais, noticing for the first time that the raven-haired boy looked just as terrified as Remus felt.

The hat sat on Black’s head for longer than either of his three predecessors, but finally its voice rang out, sounding terribly loud in the silent hall. ‘ _Gryffindor!_ ’

Black opened his eyes, his alabaster skin turning three shades paler and his knuckles white as he gripped the sides of the stool. He looked horrified.

McGonagall seemed to notice this. She gave him a small smile that instantly softened her severe features, patting him on the shoulder. ‘Go on, Mr Black,’ she said quietly. ‘Join your housemates at the table, if you will.’

As if in a stupor, the boy rose from the chair, his footsteps ringing out across the hall as he moved towards the far-right table. Remus felt something poke him in the ribs and turned to see James Potter’s wide hazel eyes looking at him urgently.

‘Clap!’ Potter whispered. ‘We’ve got to clap – no one is!’

And so they did. Remus clapped as hard as he possibly could, Potter doing so even more furiously next to him, shouting, ‘Nice one, Sirius!’. The clapping slowly spread, until soon the entire Gryffindor table was roaring and beating their feet on the floor. By the time Black made it to the bench, he was grinning, flushes of red returned to his cheeks. When Remus caught his gaze, he saw the look of horror had been replaced by one of immense gratitude.

Professor McGonagall gave a small nod of approval before calling out, ‘Bulstrode, Maximus.’

The sorting continued far too fast for Remus’ liking. Before he knew it, they were into the Gs, and then the Hs, and then suddenly the L’s – _why did no one have a surname beginning with I_! Locke, Maggie was sorted into Hufflepuff, and all too soon ‘Lupin, Remus’ rang out in McGonagall’s high tone.

Queasily, Remus stepped through the remaining crowd and took his place on the stool. He felt McGonagall lowering the hat onto his head, and the heavy rim flopped over his eyes, plunging him into darkness.

‘Hello there, what do we have here?’ The terrible voice seemed to come echoing up from deep within Remus’ own head. ‘A little wolf?’

 _I can be a wizard!_ Remus thought desperately. _I can try! My dad’s one, too. He was in Ravenclaw!_

‘Oh, I know that, little boy,’ the voice said. ‘Your secret is safe with me. We’ve had far worse than wolves between these walls.’

Remus could have cried tears of relief.

‘Now, then, what house to put you in…’ the hat continued. ‘You’ve got a fine head on those shoulders, you’d be quite alright in Ravenclaw, but no… no, this little wolf has far too brave a heart to be lost amongst the eagles. Yes, that’s it… they’ll have your back… I’m quite sure you’ll find your pack… in _Gryffindor!’_

The hat was pulled off his head and Remus blinked at the sudden light. _Gryffindor?_ he thought, surprised _._ He had no time to mull over it however, as the Gryffindor table erupted in raucous cheers. Remus couldn’t help but smile as he walked over to take his seat, giddy with relief that his secret was still just that. A stocky ginger boy with a prefect pin reached over and mussed his hair up as he sat down next to Black, and the redhead girl from the train smiled warmly at him across the table.

‘Well done, mate!’ Sirius said, clapping him on the back. ‘You made it!’

Remus returned his easy grin, feeling ridiculously warm inside as the cheering died down. Maybe, just possibly, the prospect of making friends at Hogwarts wasn’t the most awful thing in the world.


End file.
